Lillian Dellacourt is
beautiful, refined and absolutely lethal. She’s also the most feared and merciless
demon hunter in The Company. She’s come a long way from the penniless
seamstress’s daughter sold to the highest bidder, and it wasn’t by trusting a
man, let alone an exiled Marquis with more on his mind than slaying the
hellspawn . . .

For Dorian Lambert,
Marquis de Montalembert, being sent to keep track of Lillian is no mean task.
He’s wanted the fiery vixen since he first heard of her five years ago. But
wooing the lady while fighting the demon uprising is no easy feat, especially
when the lady’s tongue is as sharp as the Japanese sai blades
she favors for eviscerating the spawn of hell.

These two will have to
learn to trust each other fast, because the demon master is back, and he’s
planning to turn Edinburgh into a living hell…

Holding up her hand, she pulled the horse to a
stop. Dorian slowed, watched, and waited.

Lillian touched her nose, alerting him to the
scent of wood burning. The wind came out of the northeast. The almost full moon
lit the night well enough. They dismounted, and tied the horses to a low bit of
brush along the rocky pass.

Spending the bulk of his time with the hunters
behind a desk, he willingly took a step back and allowed Lillian to take the
lead. She was far more experienced in the field. The fact that she was a woman
meant nothing in The Company.

He wished he was as unaffected by her feminine
allure.

To his astonishment, she pulled a string at her
waist, which lifted her skirts, and she tucked them into some kind of belt
hidden at her hips. Above her high leather boots, he glimpsed her creamy
thighs. His gaze dropped to her curvy flesh and an array of weapons cleverly
stored insideher skirts instead of focusing on the danger ahead. He met her
gaze.

“Try to stay alive, Dorian. Do not get
distracted.”

He looked her up and down one more time. “You
ask the impossible, Lilly.”

The wicked look she gave him was almost as
enticing as the curve of her leg. She turned and climbed up the rock-strewn
hill to the right. He followed, making an effort not to admire her bare legs or
the throwing knives strapped around her right thigh. When they reached the
precipice, flames blazed as high as ten feet in the center of a clearing. Two
demons fed the fire, one a small trebox with scaly dark skin and the other a
larger, dumber malleus covered in slime. To the far left of the fire, three
children huddled together. The smallest girl wept loudly while the other two
tried to comfort her.

Alive! A surge of elation followed by a wave of
fear assaulted him. Could he and Lillian keep those children alive?

The malleus stood as tall as the flames and sang
in a low grating tone. Firelight reflected off its slimy skin as it tore a year
old tree from the ground, roots and all. As if it were a twig, the malleus
tossed it on the fire. Flames roared higher and his voice grew louder. Dorian
knew nothing of the demon language, but the eerie cadence churned his guts.

The trebox slunk around the fire. He used two
hands on a sword, carving symbols in the hard ground. This trebox had shed his
human clothes, exposing his hunched back and visible ribcage.

A recent report had crossed his desk depicting a
similar scene in England. When they completed drawing the runes, the innocents
would be sacrificed. “They mean to open a gate. We only have until the song
ends.”

Lillian’s eyes widened. She reached into the
folds of her underskirt and released a small crossbow from its holster, chocked
an arrow, and took aim. “We will need to move fast.”

“Ready.”

She let the arrow fly.

It pierced the malleus demon’s left eye,
silenced the song mid-word, and dropped the enormous monster to the ground
before he even had time to roar.

The trebox screamed in the language only demons
understood. He took up the song his comrade had been chanting and wrote faster
in the dirt.

Dorian pulled one throwing knife from the belt
strapped around Lillian’s smooth skin. He jumped over the hill and ran down,
dagger raised in his left hand.

The trebox rushed at him with its eyes focused
on the long knife.

When he was within range, he let the smaller
blade fly.

It buried deep in the greenish creature’s
throat. He crumpled with a whine.

Lillian ran behind him down the hill.

All three children screamed and cried.

She charged past them and kicked dirt on the
fire.

“What are you doing?”

“I think he might have gotten the incantation
finished. Look at the way the smoke curls in on itself. Evil will find a way in
even without the sacrifice. Once opened, I don’t know how to close a gate.”

It was unnatural the way the smoke did not move
with the breeze. The ground rumbled. Dorian kicked dirt on the fire and rubbed
out the carved runes from the ground.

A.S. Fenichel gave up a
successful career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue
her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.

A.S. adores writing
stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem
tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she
still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.

Multi-published in erotic
paranormal, contemporary and historical romance, A.S. is the author of the
Mayan Destiny series, Christmas Bliss and many more. With several books
currently contracted to multiple publishers, A.S. will be bringing you her
brand of romance for many years to come.

Originally from New York,
she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the East Texas with her real life
hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking,
travel, history, and puttering in her garden.